The Peregrine Falcon’s Language

A cosmic verb’s sublime intonation, 

an adverb, between here and elsewhere, 

the wind’s secret accent, in elemental 

rhythm, pipes alone with multi-nibbed 

wing, draws the map of the way in the 

silent tongues of some invisible spirals,

on the love’s vast blue radiant canvas, in 

flying colours, but when tired, spilling its 

feathery garments for the Earth’s nest till 

it becomes a naked truth on a mountain- 

top, then the life, the beauty for ashes born

again with a renewed strength with wider 

wings, a takeoff that hints at the apocalyptic  

trumpet our ripened bondage resorts, to flee 

the haunting hands of time, for it’s the earth 

of the wind’s fire in the sky’s watery clouds.